Locked And Loaded
by TheOriginalFutureKitty
Summary: Johns and Riddick sure fight a lot. Wonder why that is? Rated T for language and violence. And there's the slightest hint of Johns/Riddick. Adventure, Romance.
1. Chapter 1

Richard B. Riddick was restless.

He wanted to eat, but he wasn't hungry. He wasn't thirsty when he downed a pitcher of water. He wanted to go out, but couldn't think of any where he wanted to go.

He was drowning in the solitude that he once cherished. The dingy motel room was fully furnished, but it felt empty. Insulated from the noises of the world outside, the place felt like a tomb. Even SLAM hadn't been this bad. The wails and moans of the other inmates had fed him, allowing him to wallow in his own superiority. He wasn't like the others, weak and loudly dying of insanity. He was a predator of the highest order. No cage could hold him. But in this place, here by himself, he could understand the anguish of his former prison mates. He could _feel_ himself fading away. He had stayed to long.

He had to get out of there.

Adrenalin rushed through his body as he quickly wiped every surface he had ever touched and collected his few possessions. He strapped on his goggles, checked for his shiv and snatched the door.

Then he hesitated. He could stay and wait, or he could follow the instincts that had made him a survivor. He released the doorknob and let the door close.

For what?

To die? To kill again?

It was all he'd admit to. He threw his satchel on the dresser and sat in a chair acroos the room from the door. After a moment, he removed his shiv from his pants and tossed it on the dresser too. He pulled his goggles off and set them on the coffee table beside him and waited.

Riddick was asleep when he heard someone in the hall. Someone walking on their toes to avoid creaking in the floor boards. It was the slow methodical advance of a predator toward its prey. The footsteps stopped at his door.

He barely heard the exhalation on the other side. It was followed by a pause, and then the doorknob turned. He hadn't locked the door. It wouldn't have served any purpose, it hadn't before. Neither for himself, nor the man that was hunting him once again.

The man that had found him once again.

Riddick stood up as the door eased open, ruthlessly quelling the reflex that would have reached for the shiv. He moved away from the chair as the door opened to reveal a shotgun aimed directly at him. The hallway was brightly lit, so he couldn't actually _see_ that it was Johns, but he could smell him. Riddick slowly raised his hands and laced his fingers behind his head. Then he turned around and stared at the wall.

After a moment, Johns walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Neither man moved for a long time. Eventually Johns lowered his weapon and sighed. Riddick stayed as he was. Johns spoke in a quiet voice.

"I didn't know."

Of _course_ Johns hadn't known. Those files had been sealed years ago.

"How did _you_ find out?" Riddick asked, curious to know how Johns had managed to get his hands on them.

"What do you think took me so long?" Johns snorted.

Riddick hadn't seen or heard from the man in nearly a year. Now he knew why; Johns was the best because he was thorough.

"How much did it set you back?" Riddick asked, still facing the wall.

"More than you're worth." Johns drawled. Riddick heard him set the gun on the dresser. He tensed at the sound of a zipper.

"Just taking my jacket off. And turn around, you look like an idiot."

Riddick dropped his arms and turned around, but he stayed near the wall. Johns pulled a shell case from his jacket pocket and opened it. Riddick said nothing as the merc quickly assembled the tiny hypodermic needle and connected it to a morphine capsule.

"I thought you'd kicked that habit, boy?" Riddick asked. Johns shrugged and threw his head back. A second later, he removed the needle from his tearduct and blinked a few times.

"Some psycho fuck with a shiv keeps stabbin' me." He eventually replied as he disassembled the drug paraphernalia and put it away. He put the shell box away and leaned on the dresser. He caught sight of the shiv when he reached for the shotgun. He picked it up and examined it.

"I'm sick of these things." He muttered as he slipped it into his hip pocket. Then he raised his gun, levelling it at Riddick. Riddick tensed, but didn't move.

"I'm sorry." Riddick said, meaning it. Johns nodded his head once, brows furrowed in sadness.

"I know." He replied.

Then he pulled the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

Johns felt like laughing. The look on Riddick's face was priceless.

"You're not here to kill me or take me back to SLAM." Riddick said.

"You want me to?" Johns asked, knowing the answer to both. Riddick snorted and shrugged off the debris that had exploded from the wall beside him. Then he cocked his head and smiled.

"Then what're you doin' here?" He asked. Johns slung the shotgun over his shoulder. He leaned back on the dresser and sucked a breath in through his teeth.

"I was just in the neighborhood."

Riddick crossed his arms, obviously waiting for Johns to say more. Johns didn't know _what_ he wanted to say. He had intended to kill the son of a bitch.

Johns knew better than to think that they could just _change_ the rules of the game. If it had been anyone other than Richard B. Riddick, Johns never would have entertained the thought.

But Riddick was different. He had become some sort of obsession, and Johns had forgotten, just for a moment, just how dangerous Riddick was. A near fatal error.

He wouldn't forget again.

"I wasn't tryin' to kill you."

Riddicks' voice startled Johns out of his thoughts.

"You sure about that?" Johns asked.

"You're not dead." Riddick smiled again.

_Funny,_ Johns thought. Out loud, he said:

"Neither are you."

"Touche."

Johns looked away from Riddick then, needing to figure out what in the world he was doing here. Hell of a time to decide, but what the hell. Before and after Riddick established the change in their 'relationship', Johns had been the one to initiate contact time and time again. There was no way to tell if what they had was real, or if Johns had let himself be manipulated into not turning Riddick in. He had once told Riddick that he was tired of chasing him which was ironic, because it was all Johns had done since then, albeit for a different reason.

There was also the possibility that Riddick liked the chase as much as Johns did. It made sense. On the other hand, Johns had to wonder if he had spent the past few years doing what _he_ wanted to do, or what _Riddick_ wanted him to do.

Fuck.

He was tired of trying to figure Riddick out. Let Riddick figure _him_ out for a change. If Riddick wanted to play by new rules, then that was just fine by Johns.

Without warning, he brought the shotgun back up into position and fired the second round. It hit Riddick just below the knee. Johns didn't stay to watch Riddick scream or curse. He pushed off the dresser and left the room, softly closing the door behind him. Riddick was in a world of hurt. That was enough.

For now.


End file.
